


honey, i'm no fool and i've been down this road

by notthebigspoon



Series: Jet Black Sky Is Painted White Again [5]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon Belt: sexually conflicted and in need of a tongue lashing.<br/>Brian Wilson: bearded yenta and all around good guy.<br/>Hunter Pence: manchild and total nerd.</p><p>Title taken from Love Don't Live Here Anymore by Lady Antebellum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey, i'm no fool and i've been down this road

**Author's Note:**

> Maria and darkrose, you're both quite right. He needed the talking to and Weezy was the best person for it.

“Wow. You look like shit.”

“Thanks Wilson. That's exactly what I needed to hear. What are you even doing here?” Brandon asks, not looking up from his dinner. Not that he expects that to help him. He's not surprised when Weezy sits down and starts stealing bits and pieces off of his plate.

“Hey, I've been around longer, I don't need an excuse. Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“Dude, what?”

Wilson stops and when he looks at Brandon, it's with actual concern. “C'mon baby g... you look like someone ran over your dog or something. What's wrong?”

Brandon's mouth goes dry and he busies himself with his whiskey, draining it. As angry as he's been all day, Hunter confronting him at the game had just made him miserable. Because he's right. It hadn't been a big deal, it'd just been in Brandon's head. But he doesn't know how to stop it, how to make that anger go away. Every time he starts to think maybe it's okay to be who he is, the hate wells back up. He doesn't know how to stop it, doesn't know how to be happy.

“I...” He starts before shaking his head. He's not going to let Wilson see him cry. He's not that weak. He stands up, putting down the cash for his dinner. “Doesn't matter. I have to go.”

“No, huh uh. I'm not letting you go off like this.” Wilson says firmly. He grabs Brandon's arm, pulls him into the same side of the booth. “Sit. Speak. Tell the All-Mighty Weeze what ails you.”

There's no fighting it, not that he really wants to. If there's anyone he can talk to about this, Weezy would be the guy. He sits, gives Wilson a miserable look and tries to speak before burying his face in his hands. “I don't know what I'm doing, Wilson.”

“Go on.”

“I uh. I've been going through some stuff. And Pence, the past couple days, he's tried to help me. He listened to me, didn't push, just let me talk if I felt like it and not talk if I didn't. And it got kind of. Involved. But I kind of... I misread a situation today and I was an asshole and he confronted me about it and I said some things I don't think I can take back.”

Wilson is not stupid. Everybody knows that, or at least everybody with any sense does. He's quiet for a few seconds, presumably processing the information before he's letting out a whoosh of breath. “Okay, let's stop dancing around it. What happened? What did you say?”

“He looked at me in the lobby this morning. Just... it was just a look. But I was thinking, he's looking at _me_. And it felt good for maybe a few seconds before I was thinking that everybody knew what was going on between us. I got mad. I blamed him. I've been mad all day. Before the game... he was talking to Castro and it made me so angry, I didn't like his attention being somewhere else even though I was telling myself I didn't want it on me. He asked me what my problem was and I got mad at him. I yelled. I-” Brandon hears his voice cracking and he presses a hand over his eyes. This is too much, it hurts, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. “I called him a queer. I said it didn't matter who it was to people like him, anyone would do.”

Saying it over again only makes it worse. He feels angry and ashamed and a million other things but he can't pin which emotion goes with which what things he's said and done this past week. He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels Weezy's arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him in, rubbing his back. He buries his face in his arms like that will hide him from the world and, like a child, wishes that he could just disappear.

Wilson doesn't say anything for a long time. He seems to be waiting for something, maybe for Brandon to cry himself out. That takes a while because every time he thinks it's played out, some other memory, from today or years ago comes to mind and it just makes it that much worse. Finally, though, finally the crying slows to snuffling.

“Feel better?”

“Not really.” Brandon mumbles, wiping his eyes and glancing up at Weezy. And there's that sympathy again, that makes him feel like shit because he doesn't deserve it. “I still feel like an asshole. I keep thinking of the look on his face.”

“That's a good thing. You said some awful shit, you were an asshole, you deserve to feel like one.”

“You know how to make a guy feel better.”

“I know. I'm talented.” He answers, patting Brandon's back again. “Look, I know you've been through some rough shit. Been there myself. But I'm going to ask you something. I know why you want to punish Pence. If it's his fault then it means you don't have to take responsibility. But why do you want to keep punishing yourself?”

“Because this isn't right. I'm not supposed to be like this.”

“Says who?”

“Says... everybody. Ever since I was a kid. Walk it off, don't be a fag, Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. If you don't like girls, there's something wrong with you. You shouldn't be alive. You shouldn't even exist. People still say that. If my family knew...” His voice cracks. “If they knew, they'd never speak to me again.”

“People used to think the earth was flat, too. Not knowing your family, I don't know what would happen. But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

“Gay is okay. Comes factory installed. Not much you can do about it.”

Brandon laughs. He can't help himself, he never can when it comes to Wilson. Even when the guy is making fun of him, Brandon wants to laugh about it. He wipes his face again, taking a ragged breath before nodding and rubbing his face. Part of him knows Wilson is right. Wants to believe him, anyways.

“I was really awful to him.”

“Then maybe you should go apologize. But Belt... no, Brandon?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you feel like you're going to freak out or say something stupid? Call me. I don't care what time it is, I don't care if you think I'm busy or if you know I'm busy. If you need me, you call me.”

He's so sincere, so earnest, that it makes Brandon want to cry all over again. Brandon's afraid to say anything, doesn't want to start crying all over again so he just nods and trudges out of the hotel restaurant. His hands are in his pockets and he keeps his head down, trying to make himself small. It's pretty hard when you tend to tower over everybody else. 

He almost runs into Mota in the hallway and he slinks past after mumbling an apology, rounding the corner to Pence's room. He's down at the end near the stairwell, something Brandon knows because Pence is a total dork and had been talking about SHIELD missions and escape routes and other things that are usually outside of the jurisdiction of grown men.

It's terrifying, which is ridiculous. He shouldn't be afraid of knocking on a door. He shouldn't be afraid of talking to Hunter. Even though Brandon said some terrible things, even if they've only gotten to know each other in the past few days, Brandon's figured out one thing and that's that Pence is forgiving to a fault. He's always going to give a second chance and probably a third as well.

Before he can, the door opens and there's Pence, in his pajamas, holding and ice bucket. Brandon freezes and he's not sure what to do. He wants to apologize, he wants to run away, he wants to ask Pence why the hell he's wearing a My Little Pony t-shirt.

He bites his lip and finally blurts out, “I'm sorry. Hunter, I'm so fucking sorry.”

Pence gives him a searching look before nodding. He steps out of the door and points into his room before trudging down the hall, presumably to get the ice that he was after. Brandon hesitates before going inside. He looks around. It's a little messy, things tossed here and there just like in Hunter's apartment. There's an open laptop on the bed, World of Warcraft on the screen. God, the guy really is a dork.

Brandon sits on the end of the bed and draws his legs up beneath him, staring at his hands while he waits. Pence doesn't say anything when he comes back, not right away. He puts the ice down on the dresser, dumping a few cubes into two glasses. He pours in sprite followed by a couple splashes of vodka and hands one to Brandon before sitting back down. He pulls his laptop into his lap and in a few seconds the sounds of the game are the only thing in the room.

It's not until he's halfway into his drink that Brandon finally gets the courage to talk again. “I really am sorry.”

“I believe you.” Hunter answers, forehead wrinkled in concentration as he jabs at his keyboard. “Thing is, is it going to happen again? Because I like you, Brandon. I do, a lot. But I don't know if I can handle that. I know it's not going to be easy, but I'm not going to take that shit. Not from you or anybody else.”

“I know. I was... if I could make you the problem, it meant it wasn't my fault.”

Pence stops and then just stares. “That... Okay, I'll be honest, I didn't expect you to make that kind of progress.”

“I didn't. Not on my own, exactly, I mean. Weezy saw me eating dinner and we talked about it. He kind of helped me process some things. He's a smart guy, Weezy. A real smart guy.”

“Are you drunk?”

“May have had some booze with dinner but I'm not too drunk to know what I'm saying. And I'm saying I'm sorry, Hunter. I fucked up. I... I can't promise I won't get scared again. But I can promise that you'll- I'm never going to say something like that again. I want this. I want you, I want this to work. I'll try, I swear I'll try.”

“Do or do not, there is no try.” Pence answers flatly but there's a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shuts the laptop and puts it to the side, taking another drink of his vodka. “You're lucky you're cute or I'd probably be telling you to get the fuck out.”

It'd be about what he deserves. Brandon puts the glass aside and shakes his head. He decides that he _should_ leave but before he can, Pence has a handful of his shirt and is pulling him into a kiss. It's soft, slow, sweet. There's reassurances behind every coaxing touch. He tries to speak. Pence just shakes his head and shushes him, stopping to pull both their shirts off before rolling Brandon onto his back on the bed.

Later, when he wakes up in a tangle of skin and limbs and sheets, here's a swell of panic like he always seems to feel when he lets himself get too close to a guy. For the first time, though, he can stifle it down. Because he was honest when he told Hunter that he wants this.

He's still scared to death, afraid of doing the wrong thing and everything blowing up in their faces. But now, right now... Hunter's head is on his chest and there's an arm wrapped around his waist. Brandon looks down, watches the moonlight that illuminates the blonde hair and pale skin, listens to the quiet, steady breathing. 

For this moment, he's not scared. This, with Hunter, this would be worth any amount of fear or trouble or suffering. This is everything.


End file.
